Food For Thought | O.miya

miya osamu has long accepted the fact that the girl he loves is a crybaby.

when he and atsumu met you as kids you were crying alone in the playground as your friends left one by one.

when you entered middle school with them you cried when you found out you were in separate classes.

when he gifted you a necklace he had worked hard for to buy you cried so hard you got snot all over his shoulder.

when you atsumu made you so mad you cried in his arms as he comforted you.

when you and atsumu left hyogo for tokyo, you cried begging him to call you everyday.

when you were feeling lonely in college you cried on the phone with him and cried when he finally found the time to visit.

you cry over the smallest inconveniences, anything that made you feel happy, had you feeling mad, excited, surprised, anything.

so it's no surprise to him that it's taking you so long to finish your vows because of crying so hard.

all formalities are forgotten as he pulls you in his arms, swaying you gently as you finish the last of your vows. family, friends, and guests are forgotten ones he cries with you as he reads his vows written on a tissue paper.

"I whole heartedly promise to love you, comfort you and cry with you even if death separates us and even in our next life. i'd love you now and forever and until the next life that i'll share with you."

“One, two, three…”

“baby, when are you gonna stop.” He flushes.

All of your attention was set on him and his perfect face. The freckles littering his skin, god it made him so beautiful. You never understood how he could hate them.

“Never. You’re so handsome ‘dashi.”

His hands fly to cover his face, an attempt to cover his blushing cheeks.

“No let me look at you.” You peel his hands away and he feels so vulnerable with your doe eyes staring down at him like he’s hung up the stars in the night sky.

“Why do you like them so much.” He grumbles.

“Because it’s apart of you. And I love everything about you.”

His eyes soften at your words.

He truly thinks he doesn’t deserve you, that you’re way out of his league. However all of his thoughts melt away when you lean down and kiss him.

Tadashi thinks that when your lips meet his it’s perfection. That the both of you were molded for eachother. And when you kiss him with such tenderness and love.

He thinks there’s no one else better for you than him.

And there’s no one better for him than you.

THINGS THEY DO THAT MAKE YOU SECOUND-GUESS YOUR 'FRIENDSHIP'

→ pairings: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

→ a/n: finally had the time to write something!! school has been keeping me busy!! implied female reader for toji’s part.

GOJO - being touchy.

you’re used to gojo’s touch.

the way he drapes himself over your shoulders like a human scarf, pulling you into his side without a second thought. the way his hand finds the small of your back when he guides you through a crowd, his palm pressing firm against you, like he’s staking a silent claim. you’ve grown accustomed to the way he plays with your fingers absentmindedly—twisting your rings, tracing circles over your knuckles—while he rambles about something completely unrelated.

it’s always been like this.

that’s what you tell yourself, at least. that it doesn’t mean anything. that he’s like this with everyone.

but lately, it’s been getting harder to believe that.

because his touches have started to linger. his fingers don’t just graze your wrist anymore—they rest there, warm and grounding, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate strokes against your pulse. when he reaches for something above your head, he doesn’t just stretch over you; he presses his chest against your back, close enough that you feel the heat of him seep into your skin.

and then there’s the way he looks at you.

like right now.

you’re both sprawled out on his couch, half-watching some random movie he insisted was a classic (it’s not), when you feel it—his fingers, absentmindedly tracing shapes on your wrist.

you try not to react, try to focus on the screen, but your breath catches anyway. if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. he just keeps going, slow and lazy, the pads of his fingers skating along your skin like he’s mapping out something only he can see.

your pulse jumps when his fingers move up—tracing the inside of your forearm now, featherlight. it’s not accidental. you know it. he knows it.

but he doesn’t stop.

you sneak a glance at him, expecting that usual smug grin, but he’s still staring at the screen. too casual. too relaxed. he’s testing you.

like he’s waiting for you to do something about it.

you should move your arm. you should pull away. you should call him out.

but you don’t.

because the way he’s touching you now—it’s not friendly. it’s not casual. it’s not something he does with anyone else.

and the worst part?

he knows you know it.

GETO - never correcting people when they assume you’re his partner.

you don’t think anything of it at first.

you and geto move through the grocery store like you always do—bickering over which brand of cereal is better, tossing random snacks into the cart, laughing when he makes fun of your terrible attempts at balancing fruit on top of an already overflowing pile of groceries.

it’s easy. it’s comfortable. it’s just you and him.

and then you get to checkout.

the cashier, an older woman with kind eyes, watches as geto effortlessly lifts the heavy bags before you can even reach for them. he does it without thinking, just like how he had taken the cart from you earlier, just like how he always opens doors for you, just like how his hand had rested on the small of your back when guiding you through the aisles.

she smiles warmly.

“you two make such a lovely couple.”

you freeze.

your brain short-circuits for a split second, mouth already opening to correct her, but then—then you hear nothing from geto.

not a single word of clarification. not even a chuckle or a shake of his head.

nothing.

instead, he just hums, tilting his head slightly as if considering the statement. he doesn’t deny it. doesn’t laugh it off. just lets the words sit there, completely unbothered.

your head snaps toward him, eyes wide.

he meets your gaze, entirely too calm, a slow smirk forming at the corner of his lips. and then—because he’s absolutely insufferable—he leans in slightly, voice smooth as silk.

“you hear that?” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “we’re a lovely couple.”

you want to strangle him.

your reaction must be obvious because the cashier just beams, clearly convinced she was right. “oh, young love is so sweet. you take good care of them, dear.”

geto chuckles, and before you can protest, he effortlessly places a hand on the back of your head, ruffling your hair like you’re some flustered little thing.

“always,” he says smoothly.

you don’t remember the rest of the transaction. you’re too busy contemplating whether it’s legal to strangle someone with a grocery bag.

as you’re walking out, geto leans in again, voice dripping with amusement.

“you could’ve corrected them,” he muses, lips dangerously close to your ear. “but you didn’t.”

your stomach flips. you hate that he’s right.

NANAMI - always taking care of you.

you don’t plan on staying this late.

but time slips away between deadlines and last-minute emails, and before you know it, the office is nearly empty, the sky outside painted in deep shades of navy. you sigh, rubbing your temples, already dreading the long commute home.

by the time you step out onto the quiet street, the city lights glowing around you, your phone buzzes.

you don’t have to check to know who it is.

nanami: where are you?

your stomach flips.

you: just leaving work. why?

the message is barely delivered before another one comes in.

nanami: stay there. i’ll be there in five.

you frown at your screen. he was nearby?

true to his word, exactly five minutes later, a familiar figure approaches.

nanami, dressed in his usual crisp attire, looking entirely too put together for this hour. he doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at you, scanning you over like he’s checking for any signs of exhaustion.

“you should have left earlier,” he says, voice even, but you catch the slight furrow of his brow.

you roll your eyes. “yeah, well, i got caught up.”

“hm.” he exhales, the sound bordering on exasperation, before tilting his head toward the direction of your apartment. “let’s go.”

you blink. “what?”

“i’ll walk you home.”

you huff a laugh. “nanami, it’s fine. i can handle walking alone.”

he gives you a flat look, as if the idea is so ridiculous it doesn’t even warrant a response. Instead of arguing, he simply starts walking, fully expecting you to follow.

and—of course—you do.

it’s not the first time he’s done this. You know it won’t be the last.

he doesn’t hover, doesn’t lecture you about staying late. but his presence is solid beside you, steady and unwavering. his hands stay in his pockets, but you know—if anything were to happen, if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way—he’d be on them in a second.

as you near your building, you sneak a glance at him. “you didn’t have to do this, you know.”

nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like you’re the one giving him a headache. “i know.”

“…then why do you?”

he stops walking. turns to face you, studying you for a long moment.

then, with a sigh—like he’s so tired of explaining the obvious—he simply mutters:

“because you don’t take care of yourself.”

and that’s that. no room for debate. no further explanation.

your heart stumbles in your chest.

because he doesn’t say i worry about you. he doesn’t say i do it because I care.

but he doesn’t have to.

the truth lingers in the quiet, in the way he watches you, in the way he makes sure you’re safe—every single time.

and when you step inside your building, looking back one last time, you catch him still standing there. waiting.

making sure you’re okay.

like he always does.

SUKUNA - being unreasonably jealous.

it starts off as nothing.

a passing comment here, an unimpressed scoff there. sukuna has always been blunt, always had a sharp tongue and an even sharper glare. but lately, you start to notice a pattern—one that becomes impossible to ignore.

it happens again tonight.

you’re out with friends, the atmosphere light and easy, laughter filling the air. you’re mid-conversation with some guy—a friend of a friend, nothing special—when you feel it.

that presence.

it’s not loud or obvious, but it’s there. a weight lingering at your back, pressing into your skin before you even turn around.

and when you do—

sukuna is already watching.

seated across the table, one arm draped over the back of his chair, his gaze locked onto you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. bored. blank. irritated.

you try to ignore it. you keep talking, keep laughing at whatever the guy is saying, but it doesn’t matter. because every time you sneak a glance in sukuna’s direction, his eyes are still on you.

unwavering. unrelenting.

you swallow, trying to shake the weird tension creeping up your spine. but then the guy leans in slightly—just slightly—and that’s all it takes.

there’s a sharp scrape of a chair against the floor.

and then sukuna is there, standing beside you, a hand dropping heavily onto your shoulder.

“alright,” he drawls, voice slow, lazy, but carrying something unmistakably sharp. “this conversation looks thrilling.”

the guy stiffens. you do, too.

you glance up at sukuna, narrowing your eyes. “what are you doing?”

“listening.” his fingers tap idly against your shoulder, his weight sinking into the space beside you like he belongs there. “should i join? or is this, what—special?”

your brows furrow. “are you serious?”

he tilts his head slightly, feigning confusion, but you know that look. the glint in his eyes, the smirk barely tugging at his lips—he’s enjoying this.

the guy across from you clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “uh—i was just—”

“no, no,” sukuna interrupts smoothly, finally dragging his gaze away from you to look at him. “you were just what?”

the guy hesitates, then shakes his head. “never mind.”

and just like that, he stands, mumbling something about needing another drink before walking away.

you whip around to face sukuna fully, shoving his arm off your shoulder. “what the hell is wrong with you?”

he doesn’t move, doesn’t even pretend to be remorseful. if anything, he looks amused. “relax,” he hums. “didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

you scoff. “oh? and how exactly was he looking at me?”

sukuna shrugs, completely nonchalant. “like he could have you.” his head tilts, eyes flickering over your face. “and he can’t.”

your heart stumbles.

you open your mouth, then close it. because what do you even say to that? what does he even mean by that?

he smirks at your silence, reaching out to flick your forehead lightly before leaning in—just close enough that your breath catches.

“relax, brat,” he murmurs, voice deep, low, too much. “i’m just looking out for you.”

you should shove him away. roll your eyes. call him out for acting like an overprotective asshole.

but instead, you just sit there, pulse unsteady, second-guessing everything you thought you knew about this friendship.

because you know sukuna. and you know damn well—

this wasn’t just him looking out for you.

TOJI - flirting with you consistently.

it starts small. barely noticeable at first.

a lazy smirk here, a lingering touch there.

you don’t even think much of it in the beginning. it’s just toji being toji, right? he flirts with everyone—cashiers, waitresses, random people in passing. it’s just how he is.

except… it’s different with you.

because when he leans in close, voice dropping lower just for you to hear— “that color looks real good on ya, sweetheart. what, tryna drive me crazy?”—his eyes don’t leave your face. because when his fingers skim the small of your back, guiding you through a crowd, they stay there a second too long to be casual. because when he throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth, he’s comfortable like he belongs there—like he’s claiming that space.

and then there are the compliments.

not just the casual you look nice or that suits you. no, never that simple.

“bet guys lose their damn minds over you.” he says it so offhandedly, like it’s just a fact—just something everyone knows.

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “yeah, sure.”

“i mean it,” he murmurs, and you hate the way your stomach flips when his gaze settles on you, something dark and unreadable in his eyes. “if i were them, i wouldn’t let you outta my sight.”

you tell yourself you’re imagining it—that he’s just messing with you. that’s what he does.

but then it keeps happening.

every single time, without fail.

you’re just trying to grab something from a high shelf? suddenly, he’s behind you, reaching over your head, his chest nearly brushing against your back. he doesn’t have to get that close. he knows it. you know it. but he does it anyway, voice low in your ear as he hands you whatever you needed.

“next time, just ask me, yeah? don’t gotta strain that pretty little neck of yours.”

you push him away, muttering something under your breath, and he just laughs, all smug amusement.

he’s always touching you, like he can’t help himself. a hand grazing the back of your neck when he adjusts your hoodie. his palm resting against your thigh when he leans in to say something. he doesn’t cling to you, doesn’t make a big show of it—but it’s there. subtle. constant. a quiet, unspoken thing.

and then—then, there are the moments that really get to you.

like when you’re out with friends, sitting side by side, and his fingers find the hem of your sleeve. absentmindedly playing with the fabric, rolling it between his fingertips. he doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it, just listening to the conversation, relaxed and completely at ease. like touching you is second nature to him.

or when you’re waiting in line for something, standing close, and he leans in just slightly, dropping his voice low.

“keep looking at me like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips for half a second. “gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’ from me.”

your breath catches.

and the worst part? the absolute worst part?

he sees it. every damn time.

sees the way your pulse flutters at your throat. sees the way your fingers twitch, like you don’t know what to do with them. sees the way you avoid his gaze, pretending like your entire body isn’t reacting to him.

and every time, without fail—he just smirks.

like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. like he’s enjoying it. like he’s waiting—patient, unhurried—for you to break first.

and the thing is…

you think he knows you will.

eventually.

MARKS ! a. miya x fem!reader

"Atsumu Miya," You gasp out, looking at your neck in the mirror.

"Yes'm?" He replies lazily, laying in the bed scrolling through his Instagram feed, without a care in the world.

It takes a moment for you to get your words out because, what the actual hell...? There are multiple, dark, marks on your neck.

"Holy fuck, do you want people to think you're abusing me or something?" That catches his attention immediately, but once he sees what you're referring to, he lies back down with a smirk.

"M'sorry that I love my wife and I want everyone to know." Oh, they'll know alright, and then you'll be on the receiving end of the teasing.

"I know, but, this is just downright ridiculous. It looks like you tried to fucking eat me." Atsumu laughs at that, and decides to get out of the bed to come take a look for himself.

The warmth of his bare chest seers through the tank top you have on and you can feel his steady heart beat. He, not so subtly, inhales the scent of your conditioner in your hair. "Mm, yeah. I did a number on ya, huh?"

You meet his beautiful brown eyes through the mirror and he looks heaven sent. His hair is all over the place, he's got a few marks from you, on his neck and chest, and that stupid smile that you fell in love with. How could you possible stay mad at him?

"You sure as hell did, and I have work in a little." He hums in thought as he snakes his arms around you waist.

"Why don'tcha just cover it with some makeup?" Oh if you could you would... you don't even think the best concealer could hide these marks.

"If it was just a singular hickey I would, but I don't think this can be covered without being super noticeable." Atsumu tries and fails to stifle a chuckle.

"Looks like ya gotta stay home today, huh?"

"Not happening, I have a super important presentation today." The both of you examine your neck together trying to figure out the best way to tackle it.

"Turtleneck?" Atsumu suggests, rubbing his hands up and down your sides in a comforting way.

"That would work it if it wasn't so hot out."

"But yer gonna be inside, giving a presentation..." He reasons.

"Ugh, turtleneck it is, I guess." The blond presses a kiss to your cheek, and you swat his face away. You're not mad anymore, but it's still his fault you'll have to wear a turtleneck in 80 degree weather.

💤💤💤 💤

ushijima gives the bluntest compliments. you two will just be walking together, hand in hand, and he’ll randomly blurt out something like, “you look very beautiful today.” or “i like when you smile like that.” he never sugarcoats his words, but that’s exactly how you know he is so genuine with everything he says. nothing he tells you is anything but the complete and honest truth. and through every fleeting moment where he acknowledges his inner thoughts out loud, one thing is clear—he’s so deeply in love with you.

Eddie being clingy

“Jus’ let me love on you!” your boyfriend whines, voice muffled from his face buried in your chest.

You let out a small laugh, hand tangled in his hair as you gently scratch his scalp back and forth - not exactly trying your hardest to coax him off of you.

“I’ve gotta get up, Eds. Gotta get ready.”

“Just staaay. No point in going out in the rain when you could be snuggled up with your man - I’ll keep ya warm n’ safe, babe,” he briefly lifts his head to flash you a grin, hoping to convince you to remain in bed with him.

“I don’t know baby, I’d love to, but I have a lot to get done today.”

He only presses face into your chest harder.

You slightly lift your back and arms in an attempt to stretch out, which he takes as your way of moving him off of you - he immediately moves to cage his arms around you, holding you into place.

“What, I can’t stretch now?” You laugh.

He doesn’t respond, but slightly crawls himself up and rests his full weight on your body, causing an oomph to escape you.

He makes himself at home by nuzzling into your neck, arms latch around your shoulders as his soft hair presses against you.

You smell the spicy musk of his faded cologne, and let out a soft hum, content, as you return your hand to rub his scalp.

Good luck getting him off of you now.

He groans, and you feel the soft, bulbous tip of his nose drag and press into your neck on and off, his stubble gently scratching against you. Whatever he was doing had him a very happy man.

“Whatcha doin, handsome?” You giggle.

“‘M just, appreciating my girl. Smell so good baby, ‘n your skin’s so soft. What do you expect me to do?”

“You’re kinda precious, you know that?” You giggle.

A few minutes of gentle silence pass, when you feel his hand snake up your shirt and grab at your tummy. He taps his fingertips in random patterns and rubs the skin up and down, tracing your bellybutton, until he lays his warm palm flat against you. He surprises you when you suddenly feel his teeth on your shoulder, giving you a brief but firm chomp.

“Eddie!” You squeal.

“Sorry, you’re just so pretty,” he whispers, palm finding the side of your face and cradling it. He lifts up his head to kiss up your jaw, meeting your lips in a soft kiss, pleading for you stay in with him today.

“Will you stay home? I’ll cook for you and dote on ya, real nice. Make sure you know how perfect you are f’ me.”

You let out a soft sigh, “well, you’ve twisted my arm. Can’t say no to you, Eds.” You smile.

“That’s right,” he grins, knowing he’d get what he wanted, “love my pretty pretty girl.”

“my love,” nanami calls, stepping into the living room with wrinkled pjs and damp hair. you’re laying on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through one of your various shopping apps— spring sales have you adding everything to your cart.

“yes?” you reply, craning your neck to meet his gaze. he lifts your legs, sitting where they were resting before lowering them back down, in his lap. he smells like water and clean laundry— it’s familiar and comforting.

warm hands rest on your calves, you put your phone down to give him your full attention.

“you have my debit card on your phone and wallet,” he starts, “you know that, right?”

you nod slowly, giving him a confused look. “i know.”

“you haven’t used it at all. i just checked my statement.” he says, “didn’t i tell you to buy whatever you want?”

“you did,” you smile, almost laughing at the situation. “and i’m grateful, always, that you offer to pay for my things, but i have my own money too, ken— also! i did use it, actually.”

he rolls his eyes, not malicious, of course. “yeah, for boba. twice. do you know how many shopping bags you’ve hauled into this house the past month?”

he’s being sarcastic and you laugh. this has always been something you guys quarrel about, kento giving you all his money and assets, immediately throwing his card whenever you mention something you like. “why do you want me to spend your money so bad?”

kento pouts, just slightly, it’s barely even noticeable.

“i’m grateful, baby,” you say, “but you already pay for so much— this house, my car insurance, the bills and date nights… i’m already spending quite a lot, no?”

“you can spend more,” he pouts, “what i pay for already is nothing— i want to buy you more, for you to have everything you want.”

“i already have everything i want,” you tease, “he’s actually sitting in front of me, kindly massaging my calves.”

he narrows his gaze, a smile twitching onto his lips.

“we’re going to the mall this weekend— the far one,” he decides, “we haven’t been to the mall together for a while, love. i wonder why is that?”

you hum, avoiding his gaze, “maybe because the last time we went, you secretly took my wallet out of my purse and hid it in your underwear drawer so you could pay for everything?”

he laughs, recalling the moment. “i am absolutely doing that again— also, i saw that app you were scrolling on, let me see what you have, i’ll get it for you.”

notes from mei! i do have a shopping addiction actually (im dirt poor rn and in withdrawal) but i see my future (this fic) and its so so bright

gojo calls you every name but your actual name—sweetheart, baby, pookie bear, sometimes even "oi, babe"—but never your actual name. so when he finally did, when he looked at you dead in the eyes and said it, your whole body stiffened. "are you okay?" you asked immediately, squinting at him like he was on his deathbed. "blink twice if you need help." you even reached out to check his forehead for a fever, because surely, this was a medical emergency. gojo just blinked at you, utterly confused, before doubling over in laughter. "you seriously think i'm unwell just 'cause i said your name? that's so messed up—i love it."

nanami calls you every name but your actual name—dear, love, sometimes just a heavy sigh paired with a side glance. so when he actually did, when his voice dropped and he spoke your name with the weight of a thousand bricks, you felt your stomach sink. "is this a breakup?" you blurted out before he could even continue. nanami blinked at you, his brow twitching. "what?" you crossed your arms. "you're using my actual name," you pointed out. "is this a professional resignation from this relationship?" nanami exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "no. i was just asking if you wanted coffee." but the damage was done. you spent the rest of the day side-eyeing him, just in case.

geto calls you every name but your actual name—angel, sunshine, princess, even "chipmunk" when you get on his nerves. so when he finally did, when he said your name with a certain weight, you panicked. "oh my god," you gasped. "you found out, didn't you?"

"found out what?" his eyes narrowed. "the shampoo," you admitted, guilt weighing heavy on your conscience. "i've been using your fancy shampoo. that’s why you keep running out so fast." geto just stared at you, eyes unreadable. then, very slowly, he leaned back, crossed his arms, and nodded. "that explains a lot."

"are you mad?"

"no. just disappointed." ouch.

toji calls you every name but your actual name—doll, sweetheart, brat, depending on his mood. so when he actually did, when he gritted out your name over the phone in the middle of the night, your stomach dropped. "oh my god," you whispered. "are you dying?"

"what?"

"you're out on a job, aren't you? is this a last words kind of call? should i be preparing for the worst?" toji groaned, the sound of gunfire faint in the background. "jesus. i just needed you to grab my extra ammo from the closet."

"oh."

"...but now that you mention it, maybe bring a first aid kit too."

choso calls you every name but your actual name—babe, honey, sometimes just a hum of acknowledgment. so when he actually did, when he uttered your name so carefully, you felt your chest tighten. "you're friendzoning me," you whispered, horror-stricken. "this is the end." choso blinked, his face scrunching up in genuine confusion. "what? no. i was just—"

"it's okay," you sniffed. "you wanted to let me down easy, huh? didn't want to go for the direct breakup."

"babe, i was literally just asking if you wanted extra sauce on your food." but it was too late. you had already started mourning your relationship.

sukuna calls you every name but your actual name—dove, brat, little one, sometimes even "human" when he's particularly irritated. so when he finally did, when his voice wrapped around your name with sharp precision, your survival instincts kicked in immediately. "listen, listen, i didn't do anything," you pleaded, hands raised. "whatever it is, it wasn't me. i swear. please don't kill me." sukuna just stared at you, unimpressed. "i was literally just calling you."

"yeah, exactly," you said, eyes darting for possible escape routes. "why would you use my actual name unless i'm in serious danger? is this a death sentence? am i about to be vaporized?" sukuna rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply. "you're so dramatic."

"says the one who tears people apart for fun!"

Being in a relationship with Eddie Munson would include:

Stargazing while laying on top of the roof of his trailer, giving to every constellations you see a new different name every time;

Holding his hand while he is at the dentist to prevent him to bite the doctor. You are the only one that can calm him;

Always sleeping while holding each others. Sometimes with him being the big spoon, sometimes the little spoon, other times instead just touching your hands while sleeping on your bellies;

FOREHEAD KISSES! FOREHEAD KISSES!;

Slapping each other asses at every occasion. You are brushing your teeth? He slaps your ass. Is he standing in the kitchen preparing something to eat? You slap his ass;

Waking up with Eddie leaving kisses on your back and then stopping you with his body from getting up;

Eddie constantly drawing doodles on your arm every time he found himself holding a pen. One time you decide to surprise him by getting one of his little drawings tattooed on you, leaving him speechless and horny;

Spending time by laying on his bed, you counting his freckles, him playing with your hair, music playing in the background;

I think your dates would always be very simples. Most of the times you would go to the movies and then eat something at Benny's (your favorite place). Instead, when you want to be just the two of you, you always have picnic dates near lover's lake;

Talking about picnics, you always sit under the same tree. The same tree where you befriended a nice squirrel that lives there, and always comes to you to be feed;

Kisses that takes both your breaths away;

Eddie always trying to win a new stuffed toy for you at every fair you go;

Constantly loosing him at the supermarket and found him 10 minutes later with his arms full of chocolate, cookies, ice cream and yoo-hoo;

Movie nights at your house ending, most of the times, by watching them in a building fort you built with sheets and pillows;

Holding hands? More like holding pinkies;